


gamble away your fright

by flimsy



Series: we are wide away - series [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Love Triangles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsy/pseuds/flimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is lonely. Harry helps.</p><p> <br/><i>“The flat is really empty without you,” Louis blurts out without meaning to. “I hadn’t quite realised how empty, because I’ve never been here alone for so long.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	gamble away your fright

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [we are wide away](http://archiveofourown.org/works/442390), but can stand on its own, too. 
> 
>  
> 
> <3 to [junkshop_disco](http://junkshop-disco.livejournal.com/) for beta and Britpicking, and [randominity](http://randominity.livejournal.com/) for concrit and encouragement.

Louis wakes to the sound of thunder over London, a low rumbling resonating between buildings and through the streets, followed by the soft, satisfying tickling sound of rain on warm concrete. A moment later the flat is flooded with the mossy scent of storm and Louis rolls onto his side, eyes closed, breathing in and out deeply until his head stops spinning. 

He blearily remembers last night - pubs, pints, shots, inebriated goodbyes - and hopes that he’s not overslept. His stomach is still turning, though, and he rolls onto his back, rubbing his face. The chandelier over his head is caught in an endless spiral that for a moment draws him in until he closes his eyes again, groaning, dizzy and sick.

It takes him a couple more minutes to stagger out of bed and into the bathroom to relieve himself and wash his face; except for the noises seeping in from outside it’s quiet in the flat, and now that his mind has cleared up a little, he can almost feel the silence. 

The clock in the kitchen says it’s almost one and the glass of water, aspirin and note on the kitchen table say that Liam has already left. 

“Bugger,” Louis mutters and grabs the aspirin, washing it down with a generous sip of water, then sits on one of the bar stools, curled up against the counter. Liam has tidied up the remnants of their pre-drinking and done the dishes; the kitchen smells clean and welcoming, and Louis feels his chest get a little tight; he also feels stupid because Liam will be back in a month and the only thing Louis should worry about until then is not wrecking the flat. 

He slides off the stool and goes in search of his phone, finding it in the pocket of his jacket - there’s a text from Stan from last night and a missed call from an unknown number from a few minutes ago. Louis squints, flopping down on the sofa, gnawing his lip because he was going to call Liam and annoy him on his train ride but now his curiosity is getting the better of him. 

He hits call back and closes his eyes as he waits for somebody to pick up. Seven rings later a sleepy voice answers, “‘ello?”

“Hi,” Louis says and clears his throat, voice rough. “This is Louis Tomlinson? You called my number a bit ago.” 

“Oh, that must’ve been - ,” the voice says. “Hey, Harry, come here.”

“Hi,” Harry’s voice says a moment later, “hi, sorry, I lost my phone and called you from Grimmy’s.”

Louis frowns a little, brain not quite caught up yet. Maybe he did have a little more than the recommended dose of alcohol last night. He listens to footsteps, then a door closing. “Just wanted to make sure you guys got home safely and stuff.”

“We did, Liam was quite sober in the end,” Louis answers. “You’re at Grimmy’s?”

Harry makes a noncommittal sound. “No, we’re at his friend’s place. I was really out.”

Louis snorts and laughs a bit. Harry’s voice is almost soothing against the quiet, empty flat. “You were. I was afraid you were going to take your trousers off at some point.”

Harry chuckles. “Hoping, rather? Hey, would you like to have some late breakfast with me?” 

Louis bites his lip and then nods slowly. “Sure, why not? But I need some time to not be a hungover zombie.”

“Yeah, I need to go home first, too. Four? I’ll pick you up.”

“Yes,” Louis says, picking a bit of lint off his pyjamas. “Four sounds great.” 

 

*

 

Liam has a family far away from London and Louis needs to prepare for lectures in the autumn and write an essay for which his professor has extended the deadline especially for him and his mum is threatening to stop paying the rent if he doesn’t show some progress. 

Liam’s room is even more tidy than it usually is, bed made, blanket folded at the foot end. Louis stops in the door, brushing his teeth, watching the light reflect through the neatly half-closed curtains onto the carpet. 

They’ve been away - each on their own - often enough; for a week, maybe two, for Christmas and holidays, but never for an entire month, and never has Louis had to stay behind on his own in a flat that seems far too big to accommodate only one person. It’s only been a few hours and he’s already jittery, feeling weird and more wound up than usual. 

He remembers sneaking in here a few times shortly after they moved in because he couldn’t sleep without the sound of another person close by and Liam simply made room under the covers and made sure not to wake Louis when he had to get up early for uni. 

Louis takes another step and sits down on Liam’s bed; he stays there, staring at the wardrobe at the far end of the room, until the programme of his electric toothbrush has run out and signals him it’s time to rinse. 

By the time he’s changed into jeans and a V-neck and has given up on finding clean socks, the doorbell rings. He answers the door, hopping on one foot as he puts on his shoes, hugging Harry awkwardly when he comes inside. 

He smells like fresh soap and dark cologne and his hair feels soft under Louis’ fingers when Harry pulls him in more tightly, hugging until they’re both laughing. 

Louis pulls away, shaking his head. “I’m _fine_.”

“Yeah?” Harry says with a smile, shrugging. He closes the door and leans against it, long legs crossed, shoulders stretching his blazer. 

“Yes,” Louis emphasises and grabs his jacket, then goes hunting for his keys in the bowl on the dresser next to the door. “Except for that pounding headache I got from getting pissed with you.” 

Harry grins and raises his hands in self-defense. “Hey, don’t blame me. I remember having a discussion with you yesterday about Kant and free will and such.”

Louis snorts, finally finding his keys and stuffing them into his jeans along with his wallet. “With me? I must have been really trashed.” 

“You were,” Harry says and opens the door. He looks a little tired and Louis catches up once they’re outside, where the streets are still wet from the rain. He hooks their elbows and marches on.

“I want pancakes,” he says. “Or crepes. Or both.”

“Alright, sweet tooth,” Harry says. He tugs him along and Louis keeps holding on, moulding his body against the familiar shape of Harry’s side. He remembers; the feel of their bodies together, and it almost is an odd feeling, so he just presses closer, until Harry is staggering, laughing, and pulling him into a café that promises crepes on a chalk-painted sign outside. 

They find a table in the back and Louis slides off his shoes and sits cross-legged, studying the menu until their server approaches them, eyeing Louis’ feet with a disapproving glance. 

“What,” Louis says. “They’re clean.” He waggles his toes, grinning. “Like a baby’s bum.” Harry laughs and hides against his shoulder and Louis pats his head, smiling up at their waiter. 

“Fine,” the guy says. “What would you like?” He taps his pen against his notepad, waiting. 

“Crepes,” Louis says. “With lots of cream and _sauce_. Caramel sauce.” Harry stifles another laugh against his neck, while Louis tries to keep his face straight. “And coffee. Lots of that, too.”

“Two coffees and the crepes special,” the waiter says. “Coming right up.” 

“Planned any orgies yet now that Liam’s gone?” Harry asks when they’re alone again, sitting up. 

Louis gives him a look, feeling his lips slide into a crooked smile. “Not that I’m aware, no?” 

Harry bites the inside of his cheek and then leans back against the bench again, legs stretched out, trousers bunching around his crotch area and yes, no, Louis is definitely not looking at that. He fumbles his phone from his jeans and sends Liam a quick text, then checks Twitter, shifting, tugging his T-shirt out from between his tummy and his jeans. 

He wants to get up and jog a few rounds up and down the street just to run the tension off. He boxes Harry’s shoulder instead and welcomes their arriving coffee with a happy sound, diving in. Harry scoots away a little, fiddling with his phone, and sipping his coffee while Louis pretends to be too invested in his beverage to talk. 

When their crepes arrive, smothered by layers and layers of whipped cream and drunk on caramel sauce, he _is_ too invested to talk. The food is just the right mix between fatty and carby and savoury to soothe his yet unhappy stomach. He finishes, licking his fingers, and looks up to meet Harry, who’s watching him, hair in his face and mouth curved into a smirk that Louis knows all too well. 

“Yes?” he asks anyway and drags his tongue over the pad of his thumb, brow tilted. He hasn’t kissed Harry since that night and quite suddenly, with Harry’s eyes on him like that, he feels like he wants to. He leans in and licks a stray drop of caramel sauce off the corner of Harry’s mouth and then pulls away, grabbing his phone and wiggling back into his shoes to go to the counter and pay for their food. 

He doesn’t need to look back to know that Harry is following and he doesn’t need to look back to know that Harry is keeping a very respectful distance between them. He pays, tips and heads outside, not really surprised by Harry’s arm around his waist once the door closes. 

“Did you just kiss me?” Harry asks, walking them down the street, avoiding all the puddles. 

“No,” Louis says, smiling a little. “There was a bit of caramel sauce.” He disentangles himself from Harry, body buzzing, and turns around as he walks to get a look at his hair touslled, limbs a bit too long and chest and shoulders pleasantly wide. 

“I’m going home to take a nap,” he says, grinning. “No orgies.”

“Boring!” Harry calls and waves, but doesn’t move to follow. 

Louis is half glad, half disappointed when he rounds the corner, shoulders hunched, looking for his keys in his trousers. 

 

*

 

Five days later and halfway through a sixpack of Corona, Louis caves and calls Liam, who picks up at only the third ring, voice heavy. 

“Hello?” he says and Louis winces. 

“Shit, mate, did I wake you up?” 

“No, no, I was just-” Liam starts and then continues an awkward second later. “Yes, but it’s alright.” 

“How are you?” Louis asks, sitting back against the headrest of his bed, drawing his knees to his chest. 

“I’m good,” Liam replies. Louis can hear him shift, get up and close a door. “Tired right now.”

“The flat is really empty without you,” Louis blurts out without meaning to. “I hadn’t quite realised how empty, because I’ve never been here alone for so long.” The truth is, maybe he’s sneaked into Liam’s bed a little more often than he would ever admit, and maybe the truth is also that ever since that night he’s been doing it again, mumbling about nightmares to Liam. 

“Yeah,” Liam says. “It’s really strange here without you, too.” 

“Thanks,” Louis says and can’t help but smile. “I have no more clean undies so I’ll attempt to use the washing machine later. Pray for me that it doesn’t explode.”

“I’m sure it won’t explode, Lou.” Bedsprings creak and Louis closes his eyes and presses his forehead against his knees, waiting. 

“How’s your family? Did Nicola like her present?” With Liam’s voice pressed against his ear like that it’s almost as if he’s back home and as if Louis will get up in the morning and find him studying last-minute before his exam or doing the dishes. 

“Yeah,” Liam says. “I mean, I was late and mum gave her a _puppy_ , but I suppose she liked mine, too.” 

“It was a great present, Li, don’t get yourself down.” Louis smiles a little. He knows Liam is frowning, unhappy and not wanting to be, not quite satisfied and doubting himself. “It was, stop it with that face.”

Liam laughs. “Shut yours, Tomlinson. Shouldn’t you be tucked in? Don’t you have lectures tomorrow?” 

“Eh,” Louis says. “Nothing important. Thus I’m getting drunk to numb the pain of missing you, Payne.”

“Very funny,” Liam says. “Just go ahead and use me as an excuse to kill your liver.”

“My liver can’t be killed. My liver is unkillable. My liver is kill resistant.” 

“You _are_ drunk,” Liam answers after a moment. Louis feels his chest grow tight at the tone in his voice, sighing. “Is- say hello to Harry?”

“Harry’s not here,” Louis says. “I really am getting drunk on my own.” 

“Oh.” Liam’s voice is suddenly quiet. “I miss you, too.” 

He wants to tell Liam that he kind of kissed Harry the other day, but it doesn’t really matter. Louis has no claim and neither does Liam or Harry. None of them have a claim on anything because the morning after their night out two weeks ago - _that_ night out - Louis woke up alone in his bed and Liam was doing _his washing_. 

“You’ll be back soon,” he says instead, maybe more to himself than to Liam. He feels sentimental from too much beer and Liam’s voice, too, and wishes things could go back to being easier. “And I think I should go to bed now,” he manages to continue after a moment. “Sleep tight, Liam. Don’t let the bedbugs bite and so on and so on. You know the drill.” 

“I do.” Liam always sounds - not _calm_ , because he doesn’t always sound calm, not when he calls Louis from campus because a new café has opened or when he’s singing loudly along with Beyonce - it’s simply that Liam’s voice always sounds _soothing_ to Louis. It’s like a counterweight to the constant buzzing in Louis’ mind. 

“Good night, Lou,” Liam says. Louis echoes that, holding his breath until Liam hangs up. 

 

*

 

Louis should be working on that essay, but instead he gets plastered with Harry and ends up wandering along the canal with him until neither of them really know where they are anymore. Harry is singing loudly until his voice cracks and then Louis sings until he’s out of breath and has to find a bench to sit down. 

They brought a bottle of wine with them which they share between the two of them while Harry clumsily rolls a spliff. Louis hasn’t gotten high since that first time and the sight of Harry’s fingers fiddling with the thin paper quite suddenly makes him recall Harry’s mouth on his shoulder, Liam’s lips, the sweat of the three of them mingling, like all he needed was a trigger to remember. 

He clears his throat and leans back, eyes closed for a moment. Then there’s the click of a lighter and the sharp scent of burning pot and Louis opens his eyes again, glancing at Harry. 

“Want some?” Harry says, smoke curling from his mouth. 

Louis bites his lip and shakes his head, taking a sip of wine instead. “Last time we got high, it sort of ended in a threesome,” he says before he can stop himself, but Harry laughs and shrugs. 

“So you do remember, huh.” He takes another hit and closes his eyes; his hair is messily perfect, curling over his ears and neck, but there’s one strand that’s not where it ought to be. Louis reaches out on instinct and tugs at it a little, setting it back into place. Harry catches his hand when he pulls back, tangling their fingers and holding on. “I thought it was a thing that we don’t talk about,” he continues, voice a little rough from smoke and alcohol. 

Louis shrugs, trying to find a way to weasel out of the situation he’s manoeuvered himself into. “It is a thing that we don’t talk about,” he says slowly. 

“Maybe we should anyway,” Harry says. He holds the joint up and Louis sighs and swaps the bottle of wine for it, taking a long drag. The smoke burns down his lungs, but he swallows the cough and holds it in until it hurts. 

“I don’t know,” he finally says, head spinning for a moment as he exhales. “I don’t know. I thought things would be better if we didn’t talk about it, but they’re not.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Harry says. He drinks from the bottle and Louis automatically takes another hit from the joint before they swap again. 

“But it is,” Louis insists. He feels the alcohol now, more so than before, and he feels light, skin shivering where it’s exposed. “It’s bloody messed up.” He laughs a little and shakes his head, dangling the bottle loosely from his fingers. 

“C’mere,” Harry says, and Louis turns and looks at him. “Closer, open your mouth,” Harry continues before putting the spliff between his lips again, finishing it off. Louis leans in until their noses are almost touching and holds still while Harry exhales smoke into his mouth. He inhales, eyes closed, and then Harry’s lips are on his, nibbling softly. He licks into Louis’ mouth and Louis sighs softly and kisses back. 

“See? Not complicated,” Harry says when they break apart; Louis reaches out with his free hand and steadies himself against Harry’s shoulder, holding on. Oddly, he realizes that it doesn’t feel like Liam’s shoulder - Liam’s shoulders are solid like his arms and his chest; Harry is wiry, long and lean. Louis puts his forehead against Harry’s, remembering the feel of their bodies together, their synchronised rhythms. With Liam he feels guilty every time he thinks about it, because nothing is ever easy with Liam, not the way Louis wants it to be. With Harry it’s easy; redux in zero point five. 

He leans in again, gently nipping at Harry’s lower lip, kissing into his smile. Harry curls his hand over the base of Louis’ skull, pulling, fingers digging into his hair and Louis follows until they’re pressed together, licking into each other’s mouths. It’s hungry and desperate and Louis _feels_ desperate, too, to feel something - touch and skin and everything that comes with it. He makes an unhappy, little noise when Harry pulls away after a moment, but bites his lip when Harry starts kissing down his jaw, lips trailing a moist, tickling line over his neck to his ear. 

“Oh,” Louis says softly and drops the bottle of wine he was still holding with his free hand. “Hey, can I?” He stops again and meets Harry’s eyes before awkwardly climbing into Harry’s lap, knees on either side of Harry’s hips on the bench. 

“I like that,” Harry says with a grin, sliding his hands down Louis’ waist to his arse, and leans up to nip at Louis’ lower lip until they’re kissing again. Louis lets him take the lead this time, moving and breathing with him unhurriedly until his head is swimming. 

“I want to go home,” he mumbles wetly between kisses, eyes closed and skin in goosebumps where Harry’s touching him. 

“Home,” Harry echoes and doesn’t give Louis time to reply, pulling him down and sliding their tongues together. He squeezes Louis’ arse and tilts his hips up a little and Louis growls and presses back down because he can and he wants to and he aches for it, sponging up each touch like it’s water because he’s so thirsty for this.

“I meant, I don’t want to sleep alone,” he elaborates when he’s free to breathe again. He leans back, squeezing his thighs around Harry’s hips, and reaches up to tug at another stray strand of hair. “Don’t be a prick,” he says, lips curving. “Take me home, Harry.” He fits the palms of his hands over Harry’s cheeks and squeezes gently, then kisses Harry’s duck mouth. 

“Oh-kay,” Harry agrees. He’s got that look in his eyes, like Louis is a wolf and Harry is a rabbit about to be eaten; Louis lets go of Harry’s face and leans down to bite his lip. 

“I’ll eat you,” he mumbles into Harry’s mouth and kisses him again to swallow any protest Harry might have wanted to voice. If Louis is the wolf, he wants to play the part.

 

*

 

Louis is barely awake when he stumbles into the shower the next morning; he’s tired and _worn_ and maybe a bit sore. Harry is fast asleep and Louis carefully extracts himself from sheets and limbs trying to cling to him, and finds a clean towel. He loses track of time under the stream, so maybe it’s five minutes or maybe fifteen minutes later that Harry finds him and steps in the stall without asking for permission first. 

“Shit,” he says, holding onto Louis’ hip as he leans over and turns the temperature down a little. “You’re not a lobster, Lou.”

Louis snorts and shoves at Harry’s shoulder. “And you’re not a killerwhale.” He fakes a shiver, grinning, then grabs at Harry’s wrist and wrestles him against the shower wall to reclaim his spot under the stream. “My shower, my rules,” he says, but then Harry twists his arm and spins, unhooking Louis’ stance with his right foot. Louis trips and falls against the wall, adrenaline speeding through him like thunder until he’s fully sober and laughing. Harry presses against him and Louis slides his hands up Harry’s neck and into his wet hair, pulling him down for a kiss. 

“Mmh,” Harry says when he draws back again. “I know you’re all clean now, but-”

“Don’t,” Louis stops him, shaking his head, laughing again; he feels giddy, exhilarated. “Don’t tell me you’d like to _make me dirty_ again or something silly like that because I’m strictly against overused shower cliches.”

“Really?” Harry smirks a little and runs his fingers down Louis’ chest to his cock, squeezing gently. 

Louis moans softly and closes his eyes, lifting his hips off the tile to meet Harry’s hand. 

“Is shower sex a cliche?” Harry asks and slides the tunnel of his hand almost all the way off Louis’ cock until he can rub the head with his thumb.

Louis shakes his head, throat tight, and then says, “No, absolutely not, it’s innovative. I urge you to- ah-” Harry laughs and leans down to swallow the next sound threatening to sneak out of Louis’ mouth. Louis digs his fingers into the small of Harry’s back and then wraps his hand around the base of his cock and rubs gently until Harry’s hips twitch and he gasps against Louis’ mouth. 

“Oh,” Louis says with a grin, “I suppose I’ve found your weakness, Styles.” He twists his hand in the downstroke and Harry groans loudly, but does the same for Louis.

“Fuck, yes,” Louis grunts, riding up into Harry’s hand and speeding up his own. “That’s it-” He leans up and licks at Harry’s lower lip until they’re kissing again, tongues mirroring hands and cocks. He comes a moment later, pulsing hotly over Harry’s hand and Harry follows suit, biting down hard on Louis’ lip as he spills against Louis’ stomach.

They fall against each other, grinning, and Louis feels dizzy from endorphins, the ends of his nerves still on fire. He hides his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, inhaling the scent of his moist hair, shivering. 

 

*

 

The truth is, Harry is only half-right. It’s not complicated as long as it’s just Louis and Harry. Louis knows what Harry wants and how he wants it and he knows how to play him and doesn’t even feel bad about it because Harry plays him, too. This is about comfort and affection, too, and about Harry being bloody fantastic between the sheets and funny when he’s juggling to make Louis laugh. 

But later that night after Harry has left, after a day spent eating pancakes and watching reruns and snogging on the sofa, Louis checks his phone for the first time in hours and there’s five missed calls, all from Liam; everything stops being easy. 

Louis stares at his phone for a good minute and then finally navigates the menu to return Liam’s call. Liam picks up after the first ring and the first things he says, atypically, is, “Lou, are you okay?” 

Louis nods and then folds himself into the corner of the sofa. “I am, yeah. Sorry. Harry was over and I left my phone in my room.” 

“Oh, okay,” Liam says. “I thought. I was really worried, Lou. You didn’t answer all day.” 

“Uhm,” Louis says and clears his throat. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I was caught up in something.”

“No, don’t apologise, I’m sorry. I was just worried.” Liam sighs. “I thought something had happened and I’d come home and- I don’t know.” He laughs a little and Louis feels his insides twist. 

“Don’t say things like that, Li. That’s horribly bad luck. Also, I have people here, too, that would worry about me.”

“Of course,” Liam says. “No more talking about it.” He pauses and Louis frantically wracks his head for something to say, but isn’t fast enough. “I’m jealous of your pancake lunch,” Liam says. 

“What,” Louis blurts. 

There’s another pause and Louis imagines he can see Liam’s face, his kind eyes and his nose and the dimples around his lips as he smiles or frowns. “Harry tweeted a picture. I just saw it. Those pancakes look delicious. He’s a good cook, huh.” 

Louis holds his breath and holds it and holds it because he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to tell Liam that it’s not anything serious, that Harry stayed over, yes, and that Louis wanted him to, but that there’s nothing between Harry and him. He can’t, however, because there is no real reason to, because Liam has no reason to know or care or worry. “Yeah, they were brilliant,” Louis says instead. 

“Is he,” Liam starts, “did he, did Harry.” He doesn’t finish and Louis almost wants to hang up or pretend that the connection is really bad and that he can only barely hear Liam anymore. 

“Yeah,” he hears himself say before he can stop himself. “He slept over.” 

“Oh, alright.” Louis wants him to be jealous, he wants Liam to tell him off and get angry. But Liam says, “I’m happy for you.”

“It’s not like that,” Louis answers. “We’re not like that at all. It’s just a thing.”

“It’s okay, we’re young and ought to have fun, right?” Liam says. “Listen, Lou, I should go, mum’s calling for tea.”

He hangs up before Louis even has a chance to say goodbye and leaves Louis scrambling for words against the busy tone. 

 

*

 

“I liked the turtles,” Harry says around his mouthful of chips, then grabs his milkshake. His hair is stuffed into his beanie, face young, and he’s smiling at Louis. Louis takes a drink of his water and nods; he’s tired from walking around the aquarium all day and he wants to curl up somewhere with his phone and his earbuds and maybe fall asleep with a thick blanket. 

“Liam used to have two turtles at home in Wolverhampton,” he finally says. “Or maybe he still does. I’m not exactly sure about the life expectancy of a turtle.” 

"Really? Did he?" Harry asks. He tilts his head in that particular way of his that makes him look like a bird ready to take flight, windswept hair and all.

Louis nods slowly and grabs another chip, chewing as he thinks. "Boris," he finally says. "And another whose name I cannot remember at all. One time Boris chewed off the other's foot, though. What a beast of a tortoise. Thinking about it now, if either is still alive, it'll have to be Boris." Louis grins and pops another piece of fish into his mouth. He should call Liam later and ask about the turtles; he has a vague memory of Liam mentioning something about France and vacationing. When he looks up again, Harry is considering him with furrowed brows. “What?” Louis says. 

“Nothing,” Harry replies and waves his hand. “Just.” He shakes his head and for a moment Louis thinks he’s trying to decide whether to frown or to laugh, because he settles for this weird inbetween thing that’s neither one or the other and that makes his face look nothing but sad. “Nothing,” Harry finally says and shrugs. 

Louis nods slowly and bites his lip; he wants to say something to Harry, but suddenly all the words are gone and he feels tight and wound up. They spent the entire day at the aquarium and took pictures in that silly photo booth and Harry kissed him in secret when the lights went out in the tunnel, and now Louis is talking about Liam again. 

“Hey,” he says, “how about a pint when we’re done here?” 

Harry licks his lips, then nods. “Yeah, cool, let’s,” he says. He’s got a flyaway strand of hair - he _always_ does - and Louis wipes his greasy fingers on a napkin and reaches out to set Harry’s hair right again. 

“You’re a proper mess, Styles,” he says and allows his lips to curl into a tiny smile that he knows holds a promise that he’ll have to keep later. He’s good at this because this is easy and he’s not required to think much, it’s all instinct and reflex, and a flash of white teeth later, Harry is nudging his foot against Louis’ under the table, smiling back. 

 

*

 

Harry’s lips are chapped and he has freckles on the bridge of his nose, faint and barely there, and if Louis weren’t kissing him under bright neon lights in the loo of some club he probably wouldn’t have noticed them at all. 

They break apart breathing hard and Louis laughs a little and nudges his nose against Harry’s, swaying to the earthy thunder of the bass vibrating in his chest, Harry’s hands curled around the small of his back and holding him steady. 

“Dance with me,” Louis says, threading his fingers through Harry’s curls and leaning up to nip at his lower lip again. His head is full of colour and music and sound and he’s buzzing and hot and he’s _addicted_ to the heat of Harry’s body and the texture of Harry’s sweaty skin under his fingers. 

They stumble out into the club again, laughing and panting and wound around each other tightly, dancing in a corner until it’s the wall holding them up rather than their legs and Harry is a giggling mess in Louis’ arms, his mouth latched onto Louis’ neck, leaving marks that register as almost painful through the haze in Louis’ mind. 

Later, he won’t remember going home, he won’t remember picking up their jackets and he won’t remember the taxi ride and the nonsensical conversation with the driver; he wakes with Harry curled around him on Harry’s far too small sofa bed, cheek sticky and legs cramping, disoriented and feeling dislocated for a moment. 

He groans and extracts himself from Harry’s limbs, stumbling to his feet to go to the toilet and wash his face; he gets a glass of water after, stubbing his big toe on the far too big fridge wedged into Harry’s miniature walk-through kitchen. 

“Your flat is too small,” he says when he crawls back into bed, curling up so they’ll both fit. 

Harry makes a small, unintelligible sound and Louis buries his nose against his neck and tries to fall asleep again through the dizziness in his head, stomach turning from the scent of the night still sticking to them. 

Later, after Harry’s awake and has made coffee and has gone to take a shower, Louis calls Liam, but all he gets is a French woman telling him that the number he’s dialled can not be reached at the moment. For the second time within twenty-four hours Louis remembers that Liam is somewhere on the French Riviera with his family, basking in the sun and swimming in the sea; this also makes him remember that the flat he’s about to return to is empty except for the container of leftover Chinese from two days ago and a heap of unwashed clothes. 

He stays still for a moment, staring at his phone, then grabs his cup and goes to get more coffee, stubbing his toe on the fridge again. Harry’s flat really is too small. 

*

Harry comes over for DVDs and pizza and sloppy handjobs on the sofa a few days later and kind of doesn’t leave after that. Maybe it’s because Louis starts kissing with him in the open door just as he’s about to go, kisses him right there for everyone in the building to see and kisses him more until he closes the door again and presses Louis into the wall and nibbles at his lips until they’re both breathless and smiling, clinging to each other. 

They go to the shop a few hours later, in hoodies and pyjamas because Harry really wants to cook a proper dinner, with meat and greens and all that stuff, except Louis has been living off tea and biscuits and microwave popcorn and the occasional take-away since Liam left, and all that’s in the fridge is a very shriveled lemon. 

He lags behind while Harry loads their trolley full with food stuffs that Louis has no idea how to turn into a meal and then splits the cost of their shoppings with him when Harry is satisfied that they have everything they need. 

“Alright,” Harry says when they get back to the flat and have unpacked everything onto the island counter. “You go sit in the living room and have some tea and I’ll have dinner ready in a tad.” 

Louis smiles at that, ducking his head. “Wouldn’t you like to move in? I enjoy this home-cooking service a great deal.” He grabs a Diet Coke from the counter and then on a whim tiptoes and kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth. “I don’t like green beans,” he whispers and Harry laughs and grabs his shoulders, walking him away from the kitchen area towards the telly, sending him off with a pat on the bum. 

“Go and be a good boy,” he says and Louis looks at him over his shoulder, grinning. He falls asleep on the sofa, watching Harry cut vegetables and meat, hair tucked back with one of the hairbands Liam uses for working out. His curls are a wild mess and he’s humming, then singing properly and Louis just drifts off until it’s dinner time. 

Maybe it’s because Louis blows him on the sofa after ice cream dessert and lets him come in his mouth, maybe that’s why Harry stays. Louis wants to believe so.

 

*

 

The thing is just, now that Louis isn’t alone anymore, now that Harry is here, cleaning up after Louis and making Eggs Benedict for breakfast and brewing really good coffee in the morning - Harry who is so warm everywhere when he’s just woken up and who likes to put his head on Louis’ chest right before sun-up - now that Harry’s there, Louis feels even more lonely. 

“You smell like Liam,” he says by accident one day when Harry comes in from the shower. Harry tilts his head and his face falls like he’s been punched in the gut and Louis wishes that he could keep his mouth shut for once. 

“Sorry,” Harry says. “Sorry, I must’ve used his shower gel?”

Louis shrugs and shakes his head. “He won’t mind,” he says. “I steal his things all the time. He’s never been angry with me for it. He doesn’t mind sharing.” He stops himself before he can make it even worse because Harry is gnawing his lip now and staring, eyes dark. 

“I’ll go and shower,” Louis says and gets up, stumbling over Harry’s too-long legs on his way to the bathroom. 

Later that night when Harry’s out to buy beer, Louis emails Liam; he tells him that he’s sort of not really very far with his essay and that it’ll be a close one. He tells him about the aquarium and he asks about Liam’s turtles. He talks about this and that, but mostly ends up talking about things he wants to do once Liam is back. He tells him everything - how much he misses him and how empty the flat is and how much he’s looking forward to Liam coming back home - everything except for the fact that Harry is staying over. He hits send before he can change his mind and then lies curled up on the sofa until Harry comes back with two sixpacks and a rented film. 

 

*

 

Liam comes home the day his post card arrives. Louis has just collected the post from the door and is looking it through when he finds the card. It’s a picture of a castle and the blue, blue sea. Liam’s handwriting is messy and Louis smile as he reads it; Liam misses him, too. Liam wants him to come to France with his family next year. At least Louis speaks French, right? They’ll make a great team. 

He puts the post on the island counter, where Harry is whisking eggs, hair tucked back; Louis grins at him. Harry smiles back and reaches out with his free hand and touches Louis’ cheek. His hands are chilly and Louis wraps his fingers around them, holding on until they get warm. 

“Cold,” he says and Harry laughs and shakes his head but before he can say anything there’s the unmistakable sound of a key fitting into a lock. 

“I’m home!” Liam’s voice echoes from the hallway and a moment later Liam is dragging two suitcases into the room, grinning from ear to ear, skin golden and hair bleached from the sun and shorter than it’d been when he left. 

Louis lets go of Harry’s hand, opening his mouth and closing it again, and Liam stares back, eyes flicking between Louis and Harry and Harry’s hand on the whisk and Harry in pyjamas and Louis in nothing but his pants. 

“Hi, hey,” Louis says after a moment, making himself grin. He crosses the distance between them and wraps his arms around Liam’s neck, squeezing and hugging him close. He still smells like the sun, warm and _soft_ , and Louis buries his nose in Liam’s neck until Liam finally lets go of one of the suitcases and his hand finds the small of Louis’ back and holds him there. 

Louis doesn’t want to let go; he doesn’t want to let go and he doesn’t want to turn around and look at Harry’s face because he’s scared of what he’ll see there. He has to, though, so he does, training his mouth into a smile. Harry’s face is pale, eyes a little wide and brows furrowed. He stares at Louis, holding onto his bowl of eggs tightly.

“Harry’s making breakfast,” Louis says. “Let me get your things, Li, and I’ll put on some clothes and we can all eat together?” He grabs one of the suitcases and pushes his hair back a bit. 

“I don’t-” Harry starts but then stops and grabs another two eggs from the fridge, knocking them open against the bowl, lips set in a tight line that makes Louis want to run away. 

Louis exhales and starts walking towards the bathroom where he sets Liam’s suitcase down and continues on into his bedroom, where the bed is messy, sheets rumpled, and the air still thick and sticky with sex. He finds a clean pair of pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt and when his head emerges from the neckline, Liam is in the room, closing the door, face bewildered. 

“Lou,” he says and Louis wants to tell him to get out because it’s so obvious that Harry has been sleeping in here because his things are all over Louis’ room and for a moment Louis wishes he could just _wash_ it all off because he feels so dirty and feels like he _cheated_ which is ridiculous. He bites his lip and forcefully makes himself stay quiet. 

“I got you something,” Liam continues. He rummages in his pocket for a moment and then pulls out a small plaited leather bracelet. 

“Thanks,” Louis says absently and lets Liam take his wrist and tie the bracelet around it, heart thudding wildly in his chest. “It’s brilliant.” He doesn’t know what to say at all and his chest feels all tight like it’s going to be sucked into his stomach any second. 

“I- Lou,” Liam begins again. “I thought a lot about you.” 

“Me too,” Louis says lamely. “So jealous of your holiday. I hope you stepped on a sea urchin at least.” He tries to grin but fails when Liam’s hand slides up his arm and finds his cheek and neck. 

“I’m not,” Louis starts again; as soon as he does the words start welling from his lips like water; it’s like a dam has broken. “We’re not. Harry and I. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, because you quite possibly don’t care at all, but honestly, Liam. I don’t want to make excuses for myself or anything, but I just want you to know that it’s a temporary thing with Harry and with me.” 

Liam shakes his head and his brows furrow like he’s about to cry, but his fingers dig a bit harder into Louis neck and he pulls Louis closer. Louis tiptoes until they’re nose to nose and then leans up some more until they’re kissing, until Louis can nip at Liam’s slightly sun-chapped lips and wrap his arms around his neck and hold on until they’ve both run out of air and Liam presses their foreheads together, his body actually thrumming, muscles tensing and untensing under Louis’ fingers. 

Liam exhales and pulls him close after a moment, pressing his nose into the side of Louis’ head where his breath is warm, and Louis squeezes his eyes shut and hugs back, ears rushing, twisting his fingers into Liam’s T-shirt. 

With Liam’s arms around him, Louis stops thinking; he doesn’t think about Harry in the kitchen cooking breakfast and he doesn’t think about the mess in his room and the mess he’s created for all of them and he doesn’t think about anything else but the heat of Liam’s body so close. Later, he will think about all those other things later.

***


End file.
